


Leap of Faith

by angesradieux



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, crude cocktail names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:12:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29813769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angesradieux/pseuds/angesradieux
Summary: As Valentine's Day approaches, Floki invites Athelstan out for drinks. He ought to say "no," but Floki is interesting, and Athelstan has never been good at walking away from an interesting conversation. Things go awry when Floki introduces Athelstan to some of his friends and Ragnar can't seem to understand what it is about the uptight young man that's captured Floki's interest. They're very different people, and Athelstan isn't sure what Floki is to him, but whatever it is, he has his own doubts whether it can work.
Relationships: Athelstan & Floki (Vikings)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 11





	Leap of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: A sequel of sorts to my Christmas fic, The Spirit of Giving. I think this should make sense as a stand-alone piece, but reading The Spirit of Giving will provide some context for how Floki and Athelstan met. Ragnar's a bit of a jerk in this one. ^^; But I tried my best to keep everyone as in character as possible in the modern setting. Hope it worked, and I hope you enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> ~Anges

Athelstan still doesn’t know how it happened. It was supposed to be coffee. Once. Just once, to satisfy the man’s curiosity and prevent him from wreaking havoc on the toy drive for the rest of the season. And then they would part ways, and that would have been that. But somehow over the course of the evening, Floki ended up with Athelstan’s phone number.

He likes to pretend Floki had just managed to steal his phone for a moment without him noticing. But, truth be told the conversation hadn’t been entirely unbearable. It turns out when he isn’t actively antagonizing Athelstan, Floki isn’t the absolute worst person in the world, and after a bit of needling and prodding, he’d surrendered his phone number willingly. Athelstan had even met him for coffee a couple more times. If anyone were to ask, he’d insist it was a means to an end—he needed his caffeine fix. And ever since he’d shown Floki his café of choice that first time, he wouldn’t put it past him to lurk around and wait for Athelstan to show up. At least this way, it was on his own terms.

But truth be told, it hadn’t taken that much convincing at all.

Floki is an utterly infuriating pain in Athelstan’s ass. He’s also interesting, and Athelstan has never been good at walking away from an interesting conversation.

Something he curses himself for as his phone buzzes, calling his attention away from the book in his lap.

**P.I.T.A:** _ What are you doing for Valentine’s Day? _

He ignores it and turns back to his book. Or, tries to, anyway. He barely reaches the next paragraph before the phone vibrates again.

**P.I.T.A:** _ Or is that too pagan for you? _

Athelstan rolls his eyes. He has neither the time nor the energy for whatever this is. He sets the phone aside again, fully intending to let it go. He holds out for a couple pages, but then he gives an exasperated huff and snatches up the phone.

**Athelstan:** _It’s a saint’s day._

__ **P.I.T.A:** _ Of course it is ;) _

__ He could dive down the rabbit hole of researching Saint Valentine and send Floki articles to prove his point. Except he  _ really _ needs to finish reading about… Fuck. What  _ is _ he reading about, anyway? He flips back in his notes, still not entirely sure why he needs to know so much about seventeenth century church music. Before he can give it too much thought, the phone goes off again.

**P.I.T.A:** _ Don’t think I didn’t notice you never answered my question _

**Athelstan:** _ I’m busy _

**P.I.T.A:** _Pretty sure it’s spelled ‘bitter’_

__ Athelstan gives a frustrated huff before switching his phone to silent and setting it face down on the coffee table. He’s not going to entertain this conversation. Because unlike some people, who apparently have nothing better to do than terrorize the village, Athelstan has actual work to do. But first, caffeine. His mug is empty, but the coffee in the pot should still be hot. Glancing at the stack of books he’s meant to get through by the end of the day, there’s little hope for him without a steady supply of liquid motivation.

But he would very much like to be able to go to church and enjoy Mass  _ without _ the distraction of guilt and anxiety over the stacks of unread books lying around his apartment, which means getting a good, healthy head start early in the week.

Floki will just have to find someone else to bother. At least until Athelstan manages to get through at least two more of the books on his list. Surely he has  _ actual _ friends to keep him occupied, right? He has to have  _ something _ to do that doesn’t involve harassing graduate students. And if he doesn’t, well. Athelstan still has a mountain of reading he needs to finish.

Church music. Right. Athelstan’s sure this is going to be very useful when he writes his dissertation on monastic life. Somehow… Even though his research interests lie centuries before the developments any of these books discuss took place. And then there’s those articles for Thursday’s class on… Something that’s no doubt  _ critical _ to his education, and the class he’s TAing has that paper due. He should probably send out an e-mail, just to make sure there aren’t any last-minute questions…

Professors truly are a sadistic breed of human.

He leaves his phone undisturbed until he’s made his way through two and a half more books and the journal articles. Athelstan sends out his e-mail asking for last minute questions or concerns about the paper and then he sets everything aside, because he just needs to do something that isn’t reading for a little while. He stands, buttons his black peacoat, and heads out the door to go in search of a cappuccino—he’s been productive enough to deserve a treat.

He also checks his phone.

**P.I.T.A:** _I guess you_ might _be able to find a date. I mean, you’re not_ completely _unlovable._

__ **P.I.T.A:** _ Bit of a prude, though. You’d be more fun if you drank. _

__ **P.I.T.A:** _ But I assume the deafening silence means you have no plans. _

Athelstan huffs. He should just block Floki’s number and be done with it.

**P.I.T.A:** _ Going out with some friends the night before. You should join us. It’d do you good! _

His brow furrows. What does Floki mean by that? The thirteenth is a Saturday. Technically, he probably could go. If he’s well placed enough to make it to church without guilt on Sunday, an hour or two Saturday night shouldn’t be a huge problem. Part of him wonders why he’s even considering this lunacy, but it doesn’t seem particularly important. The why of it isn’t going to change the fact that he is, in fact, considering it.

**Athelstan:** _Just to be clear, friends. You’re not asking for a date, right?_

**P.I.T.A:** _ Do you want me to? _

__ **P.I.T.A:** _ If you do, I’d understand. If I were you  _ I’d _ want to date me _

__ **Athelstan:** _ Will you just answer the question? _

__ **P.I.T.A:** _ Such a grouch! _

__ **P.I.T.A:** _ Nothing as serious as that. Just drinks with friends, alright? _

Athelstan runs a hand through his hair. His quest for more caffeine is momentarily forgotten as he stands on the sidewalk, eyes boring holes into his phone.

**Athelstan:** _ You know I don’t drink. _

__ No. The correct answer is “no.” He shouldn’t even be humoring this conversation.

**P.I.T.A:** _ I’m sure we could find some chocolate milk for you to sip while the adults are talking _

__ **Athelstan:** _ If you’re trying to convince me, you’re doing it wrong _

**P.I.T.A:** _ It’ll be fun. Live a little! _

__ **Athelstan:** _ Maybe. If I get enough work done before then. _

**P.I.T.A:** _ So that’s a yes, hm? 9:00, place is called Valhalla _

Of course it is.

**Athelstan:** _ Maybe. _

He shoves his phone into his pocket and continues on his way to the nearest coffee shop. He’ll leave Floki in suspense for awhile. Make him squirm a bit, although Athelstan isn’t sure  _ anything _ actually makes Floki squirm. Whatever. Coffee is more important than making a commitment one way or the other. Floki isn’t the only one who can be obnoxious.

By Saturday evening, Athelstan has made sufficient progress to justify a night out. He’s made his way through the literature on church music and moved onto heresy and witchcraft and he’s made some decent headway on the reading for his classes in the upcoming week. The only question is whether he wants to spend his much coveted free time in a bar with Floki when he could be lounging around the apartment, playing his guitar for a bit, and then going to bed at a decent hour so he might actually feel rested in the morning. A quiet night in sounds delightful.

Except Athelstan knows better than that. He might manage to relax a little, but it will only last so long before that pile of papers waiting to be graded or the grant proposal he’s been working on starts to call his name. If he’s really looking for a night away from work, the best way to make it happen is to be out of the apartment, and accepting Floki’s invitation seems easier than trying to wrangle a group of students together at the last minute.

Or maybe Athelstan just actually wants to go. Maybe the company of someone different, who he hasn’t met through either school or church, intrigues him.

Maybe.

Whether it’s convenience or desire that drives him, Athelstan finds himself getting into his car and pulling up directions to Valhalla. It’s a place a bit off the beaten path, not a part of town Athelstan’s been to before. But he supposes that makes sense. He and Floki tend to prefer very different kinds of places.

The first word that comes to mind is loud.

The bar is crowded, packed with boisterous people, many of whom have had a little too much liquor to remember how to speak quietly. And then there’s the… Well, actually Athelstan thinks it might be too generous to call it music. Noise is probably a better word to describe the heavy bass and wailing vocals coming from the speakers. It’s a far cry from the quiet bars that are more restaurant than actual bar that he sometimes goes to with friends from class.

In his jeans and sweater and with the ever-present cross around his neck, Athelstan can’t help but feel incredibly out of place in this crowd.

Grimacing, he almost turns to leave, but then somehow a familiar voice manages to cut over the cacophonous racket of the bar. “Athelstan!” Floki waves him over, leaving no doubt that he’s been spotted. Dressed in tight leather and even more eyeliner than usual, the other man looks much more suited to the atmosphere than Athelstan.

As he approaches their table, Athelstan realizes Floki’s sharing it with two others. At a glance, they almost look related, both blue eyed and sporting impressive manes of blond hair. And yet, they sit much too close together to be brother and sister. He feels the heat rising to his face as he flushes when he realizes how low cut the woman’s top is.

The man’s eyes rake over him, lingering on his crucifix.

“So this is the choir boy you’ve been telling us about, hm?”

“Athelstan,” he supplies, although he has his doubts whether anyone can hear him over the background noise.

Whether he’s heard him or not, the man doesn’t yet acknowledge Athelstan. “Not your usual type. Little straitlaced for you, no?”

The woman smacks his shoulder and scolds, “Play nice.” She offers a hand. “I’m Lagertha. And this brute is my husband, Ragnar.”

“Athelstan,” he repeats, a little steadier than before.

“Yes, yes, And now that everyone knows everyone, come sit down. Don’t be shy!” Floki chuckles, which does very little to set Athelstan at ease. As he takes a seat at the table, he looks rather like he’s just sat down on a pincushion. His shoulders rise up and pull inward as Floki drapes an arm around him.

“You look like you need a drink.” Lagertha winks at him, and then waves a server over. “Feel free to pick something expensive. Floki’s buying the next round.”

The woodgrain of the table is remarkably interesting. He wonders if it might work as a decent tone wood for a guitar. He glances up as a waitress approaches. “Just a coke, please.”

“Want some rum in that, Darling?”

Athelstan shakes his head. “Uhm. No, thank you. Just the coke, please.”

Lagertha arches an eyebrow and Floki looks a little disappointed. “And another pitcher of the IPA,” Floki adds. “And an extra glass. Just in case.”

Lagertha rests an elbow on the table and props her chin on her fist. “You don’t have to look so terrified. We don’t bite.”

“Unless you want us to,” Ragnar smirks.

Athelstan coughs.

She nudges her husband. “Stop scaring him!” She seems more aware than her husband that Athelstan is approximately five seconds away from bolting to the door, so she redirects the conversation. “Floki mentioned you’re a student. What’re you studying?” 

“Uhm…” He draws in a deep breath, grimacing and already bracing himself for more of Ragnar’s utter contempt. “Religious history. I’m mostly interested in early English Christianity and monastic life.”

Despite his interest in keeping Athelstan in his seat, Floki’s eyes are alight with mischief. “Hmmm. And is that how you know so much about that  _ Christian _ evergreen?”

Athelstan’s brow furrows and his eyes narrow. “Evergreen boughs carry meaning in many cultures. Incidental commonality between Pagan rituals and Christian practices doesn’t invalidate the latter.” There’s a hint of vague amusement beneath the irritation, but there’s more of an edge to it than normal.

There’s a glimmer in Ragnar’s eyes that Athelstan isn’t sure he likes. He’s incredibly grateful when the waitress returns with their drinks, if only because it gives him something else to focus on. It gives everyone else at the table something to focus on, too.

“You’re sure that’s all you want?”

It’s an honest question—there’s no teasing note in Lagertha’s question, at least that Athelstan can detect. And yet he feels himself bristling all the same. His sigh is the tired one of someone all too used to offering the same explanation ad nauseum. “I don’t drink.”

“Oh, come  _ on _ .” Ragnar looks to Floki and then makes a vague gesture in Athelstan’s direction. “What do you  _ mean _ you ‘don’t drink’?”

“Well, I’m not sure it’s possible to say it with smaller words,” Athelstan bites out, “but I suppose I can try, if you’d like.”

“I see why Floki likes you. It’s a shame I  _ can’t _ buy you a drink for that,” Lagertha chuckles.

Athelstan’s lips thin a little and he pretends not to notice the amusement in Ragnar’s expression. He watches Athelstan from over the top of his pint glass as he takes a sip.

“So this clearly isn’t your usual scene. What do you do for fun when Floki  _ isn’t _ harassing you,” Lagertha asks.

“Nothing wrong with broadening his horizons a little!” Floki feigns offense at the mild accusation, but in reality he looks entirely too pleased with himself.

Shoulders raise in a bit of a shrug. “I like to volunteer, when I have the time, and play guitar—”

“He bakes, too. Although he’d be much better at it if he took my suggestions.”

“My cookies are  _ perfectly fine _ ! It’s not  _ my _ fault you have a uniquely unrefined palate.”

“Agree to disagree?”

“No.”

For the first time that evening, Athelstan feels something like a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He concludes, “You’re just wrong, and that’s that.” His shoulders have relaxed, sitting at a closer approximation of their normal position, although some tension lingers in his spine.

Floki holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright! So feisty tonight!” There’s a hint of danger in his smirk as he adds, “I approve.”

However, whatever it is, it’s so subtle that Athelstan chooses to ignore it, instead sniping, “Am I supposed to care?”

“ _ Adorable _ as this is,” Ragnar cuts in with a drawl, “I think you misunderstood the question. She asked what you do for  _ fun _ . I really don’t think singing hymns qualifies.” He arches an eyebrow as Athelstan’s gaze shifts away from Floki.

“Not everyone needs to be drunk to have a good time.”

“Of course not.” Beneath the amusement, Ragnar’s stare is downright predatory. “Sports? Parties?” His lips twitch and his eyes narrow just a fraction. He pauses, waiting until Athelstan takes a sip of his soda. “ _ Sex _ ?”

Heat rises to his face and he chokes. As he coughs and tries to catch his breath, he glances over his shoulder towards the door.

Lagertha elbows him, but he isn’t yet ready to let it go. “Come on, choir boy. Don’t tell me you’re a virgin, too.”

“ _ Ragnar _ ,” Floki warns.

Athelstan follows the look the two of them exchange and his expression sours. His lips thin and he tugs the chain of his crucifix, adjusting it so the cross hangs just a little more prominently.

“Nothing to be ashamed of, hon,” Lagertha soothes.

“Did  _ I _ say it was,” Athelstan snaps. Where there had previously been a breath of lightness in the banter, his words now carry all the venom of a wasp’s sting.

“What kind of music do you like?”

The change of subject comes abruptly and without subtlety, and the feeling that Lagertha is humoring him the same way one would a child leaves a bitter taste in Athelstan’s mouth. He heaves a long-suffering sigh and makes a visible effort of trying to relax. “I like soft rock,” he says stiffly, still not meeting her eyes. “And hymns.” The edge in his voice dares anyone to object, but for now no one rises to the challenge.

“So quieter than this, I imagine.”

“Things with nuance in the instrumentals, and where you can really appreciate the vocals.” He shrugs. “This is…” Unbearable. Trash is what he’d like to say. Instead, he settles on, “It’s too much all at once.”

“It’s not for everyone,” Lagertha concedes. “We’ll find somewhere a bit more laid back next time.”

“Next time?” That draws his eyes up from the table. However, Lagertha doesn’t press the issue.

Floki laughs it off. “You said the same thing when we met, and yet here we are.”

“Hm. Here we are.”

There’s a lull in the conversation and honestly Athelstan is grateful for it. The music and sounds of conversations around him is still entirely too loud, but at least he feels a little less like an ant under a magnifying glass. He’d been hoping for an early night, he ought to say. Find an excuse to leave. But for the time being, he decides against calling further attention to himself. Athelstan is more than willing to fade into the background and listen without participating. His shoulders pull inward again, and he makes himself look as small as he can as he sits further back in his chair, sipping his soda more for the sake of having something to look at than to quench his thirst.

Still, there’s an air of mischief in Ragnar’s eyes that quickly kills any hope that he might have been forgotten.

Empty glasses on the table catch the attention of the waitress.

Ragnar barely spares her a glance. There’s a wicked smirk on his lips and he goes out of his way to meet Athelstan’s eyes as he says, “I’ll have a hot Mexican hooker—”

“ _ No _ ,” Lagertha cuts in. “Absolutely not!”

“Don’t be jealous, I’ll share!” He winks. “Make it two. One for the choir boy, too”

“What--?”

The question goes unasked as Lagertha punches her husband’s arm. “Pick something else, or  _ I’m _ finding another table. And don’t come looking for sympathy from me when it makes you sick!”

“It’s a shot.” The explanation does little to dispel the flush creeping across his face. Athelstan scoots over onto the edge of his seat, wishing Floki wouldn’t lean so close. “Tequila and tuna fish juice, mostly. Very smelly. Lagertha  _ hates _ it.”

Athelstan swallows thickly. He reaches for the back of his chair, fingers brushing against the sleeve of his coat, as if to assure himself that it’s still there and easily in arm’s reach. 

Apparently oblivious to his mounting discomfort, Floki leans in even closer. There’s mirth in his expression, too, as he watches the scene unfold. “He doesn’t really like it, either. Mostly for shock value, but I  _ do _ so love watching him try to get it down with a straight face.”

“I don’t suppose I have to ask who he’s targeting,” he hisses. If Floki hears, he doesn’t answer. 

Athelstan moves closer to the edge of his chair, weight already on his feet.

Ragnar holds up his hands in mock surrender, face still aglow with vicious glee. “Alright, alright!” A predatory gaze turns back to Athelstan, who’s once again mapping out the quickest path to the door, and his smile broadens. “How about an _ angel’s tit _ , hm?” He reaches across the table and flicks Athelstan’s crucifix.

The angry scoff that pulls from Athelstan is lost beneath the sound of the music, but his feelings become clear as he stands and snatches his coat from the back of his chair.

“Athelstan!”

He doesn’t look back at the sound of his name, and as he hears the scraping of furniture against wood that indicates Floki’s gotten up to follow him, he spits, “Lose my number!” His pace quickens, and as he shoves the door open and steps into the fresh air, he can finally hear himself think again. He almost misses for the noise.

Athelstan’s throat is uncomfortably tight, and he’s not sure he entirely understands why. Floki was just a mildly irritating distraction from work. Nothing important. At least, he wasn’t  _ supposed _ to be. He shakes his head, shoving a hand into his coat pocket and snatching at his car keys.

A hand on his shoulder momentarily stops him.

Immediately, he pushes it away. “Fuck off.”

“Athel—”

“ _ No _ !” He rounds on Floki, eyes bright with anger. “I’ve served my purpose, haven’t I? So just go back inside. Have a good, long laugh with your friends over it, and stay out of my life.” He gives a bitter laugh. “Congratulations. You’ve managed to make me feel stupid. Not an easy feat! Hope you’re pleased!”

“You’re not stupid.” Floki picks up on the most insignificant detail, because  _ of course _ he does. “I don’t waste time on stupid people.”

“Your choice in friends says otherwise.”

“Ragnar can be… difficult,” Floki concedes. “I should’ve warned you.”

Athelstan scoffs. “Goodbye, Floki.”

He reaches for the doorhandle and jerks it open. However, in the time it takes for him to buckle his seatbelt and start the car, Floki has made his way around to the passenger’s side. Athelstan’s head jerks to the side as he hears it open and sees Floki slide into the passenger’s seat.

“Get out.”

“Have I  _ ever _ done what you tell me to?”

Athelstan purses his lips, but turns the car off. “I want to go home.” He huffs, grip on the steering wheel loosening just a little. He’s exhausted. In hindsight, a night at home clawing his way out from beneath another mountain of reading would have been a much more relaxing evening. “I mean, what did you  _ think _ was going to happen, anyway? That you could bring me here so you and your friends could have your fun at my expense, and what? I’d be  _ happy _ about it?”

“I didn’t invite you to laugh at you. I  _ didn’t _ !” Athelstan’s disbelieving snort drives him to reaffirm his statement. “They’re my friends. I wanted you to meet them, that’s all.”

“I’m  _ busy _ , Floki. I have better things to do than be the butt of your jokes.”

“We’ll go somewhere else, hm? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

“I don’t need caffeine.”

It’s Floki’s turn to snort. “You  _ always _ need caffeine.”

“I can buy my own coffee.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Athelstan doesn’t answer, perhaps because he’s really not sure. He still hasn’t even worked out why he  _ cares _ so much what Floki thinks of him. He should be relieved, really. He can just go back to focusing on his studies and his  _ actual _ friends without worrying about the eternal pain in the ass constantly trying to distract him.

“I thought Ragnar would behave.”

“Well, he didn’t.”

For a moment, they sit in tense silence. Neither of them really knows what to say, but as long as Floki won’t get out of his car, Athelstan is stuck. Unless he wants to drive Floki out of his apartment and try to get inside fast enough to lock him out. Honestly, that’s beginning to look like a solid option. Instead, he says, “Come to church with me tomorrow.”

“What?”

Under different circumstances, the indignant squawk might have amused Athelstan, but for the time being there is no smile to be found. “Come to church with me,” he repeats, not at all deterred by the way Floki’s face screws up in distaste. “I stepped outside my comfort zone for you,” he presses.

Floki huffs, but doesn’t disagree.

“My faith is important to me. And, look. I know you don’t share it, or even  _ understand _ it. But whatever this is… I can’t be friends with someone who can’t at least respect that.” For the first time since he left the bar, Athelstan looks Floki in the eye. “Either come to church with me, and sit through the service respectfully, even if you don’t believe in it, or get out of my car and don’t talk to me again.”

Floki doesn’t answer immediately. With a shake of his head, Athelstan scoffs—he should have known better. He pushes his car door open—if Floki still won’t get out, fine. He can have his tantrum. Athelstan will just have to take a cab home and come back to get his car tomorrow. Hopefully Floki isn’t stubborn enough to sleep there.

“The same place from the toy drive?” He stops and looks back to his unwanted companion, although his expression hasn’t softened at all.

“Yes. Saint Joseph’s.”

“Alright, alright,” Floki concedes. He at least seems to have understood that this is the last chance. “What time?”

“Eight o’clock.” He takes a little petty glee in Floki’s pained whine. In fact, Athelstan almost always attends the nine thirty service. But waking up a bit earlier is a sacrifice he’s willing to make to twist the knife just a little bit.

“Alright. Now, come back inside?”

“I’m still angry. I need time to think.”

Floki leans over and bumps his shoulder against Athelstan’s. “Come on. The way Lagertha was looking at him when I left, I think Ragnar’s probably  _ very _ ready to apologize.” He raises his eyebrows. “Would you like to hear him grovel?”

“No.” Athelstan shrugs. “It won’t be coming from him, will it? An apology that’s been  _ extorted _ doesn’t mean anything.” Besides, even if it  _ weren’t _ completely insincere, Athelstan’s not sure he’s ready to forgive. “Your friends are awful.”

“He grows on you,” Floki prods. 

“So does a fungus.” Some of the tension leaves his bearing, and as he relaxes there’s something that  _ almost _ looks like the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m going home. I have an early morning tomorrow.” His eyes narrow a fraction as he adds, “As do  _ you _ .”

“Hmm. Yes. Best behavior.”

Finally, Floki moves to get out of the car. Still, there’s a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “I’ll even take you to brunch after, hm? As an apology.”

“ _ No _ .”

“Yes!”

“Maybe.”

If he sees the triumph in Floki’s expression, he pretends not to as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot. 


End file.
